Classic Poem

I love to see the fading leaf
I joy to note the withering tree
For cold neglect and scorn and grief
Have wasted me.

I love to hear the sullen wind,
I love to watch the rising wave
Beneath whose swell I soon shall find
A peaceful grave!

I love to see the surges beat
Around this insulated rock
That spurns them proudly from his feet
Nor feels the shock.

Here will I watch the gathering storm
And listen to the sea-birds cry
'Till night envelopes every form
From mortal eye.

Then shall my spirit take it's flight
To that unknown mysterious shore
Where thousands every day alight
But quit no more.

Forgive me heaven! if rash the dead
I cannot beg; I dare not steal:
Even man's obdurate heart might bleed
At what I feel.

Would I could pray! ... it is too late,
Despair has stiffened every limb!. . . .
Pray for me father! ... mercy's gate
Is free to him.

Bend haughty soul! unbent before
Bow to thy maker stubborn knee!
'Tis done! the last great trial's o'er
Angels of mercy pray for me!